Origins #6 Max

Draak roared, breathing flame into the sky. He turned his giant alligatorish head, bellowed, “BURN MOTHERFUCKER,” and leapt at me. 

Christ, can he get any more cliche? I slid under him, jumped on his back, than wrapped my arms around his beefy neck. The attempted headlock failed miserably when he roared again and slammed me into the ground, and I heard cracking noises coming from my chest, followed by an intense, burning hot pain in my chest. Did he just break my ribs? I felt the suit stab me with something, and after a few seconds the pain subsided. I tried to stand up, but he backhanded me, and sent me flying almost a hundred feet. The landing smashed the back of the armor, and from the sound and pain, broke another few ribs. How many did I have left, I wondered, mind addled from the pain and whatever the suit injected me with. I noticed the helmets faceplate was cracked as I struggled to my feet, grunting with pain and effort. The second I got my bearings I fired a full power laser at his face. I might as well have been using a flashlight. 

He lifted me up by the neck and tossed me another hundred or so feet. The crack widened, but mercifully the only pain I felt was the dull ache of bruises to be. I forced myself to my knees and fired my last missle at his feet in an attempt to stall him. He waded through the fire as if it were just a heavy fog. Draak sprinted in my direction, but when he got halfway, he began to slow down before collapsing a few feet from my face. I used my last little bit of breath to force out the words,“Gas mask activate,”And I was rewarded with the hud displaying Gas mask has been activated. I greedily sucked in as much air as I could for a few seconds, and fell on my back for a full minute, just relishing the gift of clean air. Grunting, I worked my way to my feet, attempting and miserably failing at not irritating my cracked bones, then activated my radio. “Draak has been neutralized. Uh, also the field is a full of grade one hundred gas, so bring masks.”

Just then Draak stirred. 

“You You Youu gassed mee? what the he-hel-hell man? Thass like a wore crime”

          Was it?

Finally, he passed out. I tried to sit and felt a piercing sensation in my chest, causing me to Yelp in surprise in pain. Damn, I thought. “Suit, do you have any painkillers?”

They have already been applied, along with four Endodermal rib casts.   

“Can I have more?”

I’m sorry. I was not programmed to assist my wearer in committing suicide.

“Could have just said no.”

Could have.

After a few minutes of silence and pain, Harry arrived. Or more accurately, Harry’s Armor drone arrived. He landed and I got a good look at his new toy. It was six and a half feet tall with the physique of Bloodsport era John Claude Van Damme. It was primarily dark grey, with cyan highlights along some sections of armor along the sides. As per usual, his helmet was styled after a Spartan warrior’s, except the T shape visor thingie glowed red, to match his plume and cape. 

“Hey, Harry.”

He chuckled. “You look like shit Maximum”

“Feeling shit Louis.”

“Louis?”

“Reference,” and with that final word, the suit finally allowed me to fall into sweet oblivion. 

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